Acorns

The window has closed, but you have left
With me the residue of adventures.
Only months have walked between us,
But those steps force wrinkles
Into my youth, time has tolled my mind.

I have kept acorns. They shield
My heart from arrows shot
From a world full of naïve,
selfish emotion. If some dare
to believe I am unchanged from you,
I show a pocket full of dust—
Happy thoughts from the days I flew.

I hope I gave you thimbles, memories
To shield the pricks of shadows
That come loose and flee,
As my shadow should. To live:
The happiest thought I clutch,
A solo adventure now.

Fall creeps into unshadowed winter,
Forcing the window pain closed.
I shove my hands into nightgown pockets,
playing with acorns as I sleep.

~DaLe
10.11.09

I Believe in Angels

NPR did a series for many years entitled "This I Believe". People from All over the United States could send in their memoirs, and if chosen, they would read them on the air. The series is over now, but I decided to write one nonetheless.

I didn’t always believe in angels. Not the kind that came to ordinary girls like me. Sure I believed in the ones that appeared to the prophets in the scriptures, to the really important people, but I didn’t believe in the ones that talked to little girls in inaudible tones in those quiet moments before sleep.

My grandmother died before I ever reached my first birthday. Her cancer infiltrating her bones until they broke while my grandfather was carrying her from her bed to her sitting chair. I learned to hear her speak from listening to my dad periodically pull out her personal history, and bring her southern sass and deep-fried faith to life. A special feeling would come over me while he read, and I found myself longing for other moments that would bring that spirit back, her spirit.

I didn’t realize it was her that I long for until I was talking to a friend in college, and he brought up the idea that those that comfort and speak to us in those crucial times in our lives are those loved ones that have passed on. When he said it, it just made sense. I thought back to all those times I had needed heavenly assistance, and the feelings seemed to match the ones I felt when lost somewhere in shared memories of Grandma.

There were the big times: when my older sister got in a car accident, and no one was sure if she would make it through the night. I had argued with her that same night and I blamed myself. I lay on my side and cried for hours, willing my repeated words of “I’m sorry; I’m sorry” to reach the heavens. Somewhere in those sobs, I found overwhelming peace, so personal and loving it felt like the arms of heaven folded around my adolescent torso. It must have been her accepting the mission to comfort a granddaughter in the depths of despair.

There were the smaller times of heartbreak, and fear: when the paths of life scared me so much I fell on knees in hopelessness. There that feeling would come, filled with the same love that made personal plates of chocolate chip cookies, and laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.

One day I came walking into the house from the garage, talking to my dad as I came, and then I turned the corner. He stopped mid sentence. “You look just like my mom right now” he said. I like to think that’s because the older I get, and the harder life seems to treat me, the more she is with me—even showing in my face, eyes, and smile.

For people of faith, the promise of Jesus Christ from John 14: 18 to not leave us comfortless, is a promise of reality. For me, that comfort comes in the calming presence of my grandmother. So, I believe in angels, because even though I can’t see them, I think they bridge the gap of heaven and soil to remind us that there’s more than just dust and earth, and that family ties go deeper than time.

Argyle Goodbyes

The cloth folds you.

Tucks piercing blue into loops of gray cotton,

Sewed pattern crisscrossed by care,

Saturated with diamonds of rivered memory,

Parallel with barren voided, tearful streams.

I know too well the stitched Os and Xs,

Dyed a fabricated tic-tac-toe of warmth.

But the haunting long embraces,

Threaded with joint adoration

cross my heart with pain

Not the Hershey’s kisses.

chocolate is just too sweet.

The cloth folds me,

As I put away my argyle sweater,

and you, at least for today.

09.22.09

Ivory

I played her until my right wrist hurt
All my soul spread across the musical chess board.
With anything but mathematical logic I cornered cords,
Forcing the triads, and dissonant melodies to converse,
Inaudible language made from audible notes—
The piano full of 88 friends; I passed soul’s loose leaf,
Hoping that no one of consequence could see.

She is my old friend
Fingerprints of friendship painted on her ivory skin:
Originated in sticky little girl fingers, unwashed, wild,
Then in adolescence’s tear-touched thumbs,
That played with her, because all else refused.
She was constant, responding always in love,
Never remembering hasty mistakes,
Adoration coming in practiced companionship.

I had moved on
Leaving her stringed soul for others to love
Yet, she imprinted on me eternally
Giving me her off-white hue as proof:
Her music resides in my soul.
Who could dispute her love?
As I touched her keys, I finally understood
It was she that touched me.

~DaLe 08.26.09

Monsoon Season

You touch my thoughts like a slow rain,
Drizzling into every part of my mind,
Until every moment is laced with you.

I’d like to dance in the downpour
Abandon all weather patterns that keep you distanced.
But clouds demand that I see you in sleep only;
Hear you solely in telephonic thunder
The sound rolling into every drenched limb
But just as quickly silent; still in my eyes
Is the lightning reflection of you.

You help me feel alive, like thirsty farmland,
I soak in you; find that I have grown greener:
Your steady drive into the Heartland
Drives you deeper into the soil of my heart,
Where all roads are a one-way path to you.

So, as the rain clouds start to form,
I stop and smile for awhile.

~DaLe 08.25.09

Especially for Youth: Slam Poem

I sat down next to the man on the airplane.
Thinking me a little insane for sitting next to him,
He turned and gave a cordial smile while relocating his briefcase.
“Where you headed?” he asked, masking his frustration at having to share foot space.
“No place,” I shrugged, “well no place big. Rexburg, Idaho to be exact, in fact I’m going there to be a church camp counselor called Especially For Youth.
Well, in truth he didn’t really care, but rather than stare at the back of a seat for three hours, he carefully caressed his handle-bar mustache as he asked another question.
“For the summer? That’s a bummer,” he said. “With the way that kids are these days, they’re a maze to understand, let alone teach or preach. They’re just beach bums, what a way to waste your time.
I like to think that I’m a nice girl, but the moment was prime as we took off. I coughed once, took a drink, then decided to address his skeptical scoff:

Especially for Youth
Takes a fourteen year old girl who has never seen in the mirror correctly
That every freckle on her face is known
And alone is word that never should describe her
As the world screams of things that she should be
She comes to see that her beauty is something that goes so deep
The only thing deeper is the love of her Elder brother and friend.
She bows at his feet, and takes that leap of faith to make Him her anchor.
And he will save her before she ever drowns in tears of heartache or hurt again.

Especially for Youth
makes young men out of seventeen year old boys
That were concentrated on the noise of video games and other pointless toys
And teaches them why it’s okay to cry when you feel the spirit
That the things with the greatest merit are the ones
That the worldly macho will never get.
They really are soldiers and they leave ready to fight
With their sight fixed on the rock in which they
Carry always like a pebble in their pocket
That is burned in their hearts.

Especially for Youth
Makes disciples out of young adults
Resulting from lack of sleep, keeping constant excitement, and love
Tied together in moments of testifying and trying
To make a difference in just one life.
If they find a wife it’s just a bonus.
You see, for us, helping a teenager realize
Who they are is the royal child of Heavenly King
Who made each star, but knows who they are
Even in his far off home He can touch them
Heal them, and with His finger He makes them light
Like Mahonri’s sixteen stones, and the places them in boats of hope
To carry His light to the world.

So you see, Sir, I did not waste my summer.
It is filled with friends, and emotions that transcend even the words I could tell you.
Hundreds of people will leave Rexburg, Idaho with light to show
And you know that nothing can compare with a summer where
You know like, Elphaba you have been changed for the Good.
So I will be an All-American Reject and move along,
But as I’m placed back into the stream
I might just be another stone, but I am not alone.
So the world can crumble around me, but I will be an example
To those around me, and help them see they are a child of God too.
So thank you, for your concern, but if you came with me Rexburg you would learn
That once you leave, you will never be the same.
~08.16.09

Avon's Swan

The gray-green ripples danced in welcome
I crossed the ancient bridge and sat
I waited for mind and flower to blossom
on personal bladed welcome mat

I craned my neck to see a swan
Wondered if white or gray
Was the sweet swan of the avon
Her feathers a mix of ink and clay

I spied her by the leaning willow
Neck long and planned with grace
Unmoving with places to go
I knew the lines in her face

What are the poetic lines I draw?
Will they linger or fade away?
Like a swan on a running stream
Will only written remnants be conveyed?

She, dressed in robes of secrets
Fanned tablets written upon with quill
Followed by famous blankets
Greatness penned upon by great Will

Who is this swan that swims alone?
Breaths a fresher spray?
Could she write songs by floating in past’s foam
Will frailty be displayed?

Unanswered all questions left behind
In Avon for grayer, dark, day
The wordsmith, the swan, and I are gone
To find a better way.

~DaLe



(This was written while sitting upon the banks of the Avon--William Shakespeare's Birthplace--as the sun set one evening.)

One by Two; Two by One

I wrote this earlier this summer, but last night's rain made me think of it.


I sat and listened to the patterned rain
until it learned my mind,
playing on the solitude, laughing
at my sheltered quiet.

Without thought, I ran from disheveled room,
heedlessly flung open my door.
Without pause, I leaped,
Embracing drizzling pockets of heaven.

I left my sloppy socks like shells
on the pavement, the sound gripping me to swirl
up and down with each gust,
the dance forming in my lungs

I stopped, the movement inward turning.
I lay on the pavement like a mountain
unmovable, but reaching upward
with my palms flat on spiritual gray.

In Noah’s honor, I believed the rain,
allowed myself to drown in its wrath.
Then watched my rainbow past float
in the gutter, disappearing in arced grates.

With closed sight concentration,
I memorized each drop’s bond
inside the creases in my face—
Added my own, then, to The Fall.

April rain fused to my skin,
I returned to the world of dry,
But forever felt, somehow, foreign
I had become rain dancer.

~DaLe 04.15.09

Boat Fishing

You caught my eye

Though I thought it useless to try

I still smiled when you passed my way.

The corner of my eye kept mental notes

That only heightened secrets hopes

That your eye would catch me someday

Then once your eye found mine

I tried hard to read the facial signs

As I floated in that generous river blue

Your words were like fishing twine

Reeling me in line by line

Hooking my heart inside a warm slough

I’d like to laugh down this river with you

See where it takes us to

When we’ve laughed so hard we get sore

That’s what serious conversation will be for

Each meandering in our stream of happiness

I’d like to grow down this river with you

Life can burn me a time or two

‘Cause really those burns are like skipping rocks

Giving depth to backward-twisted clocks

Being with you only brings happiness

I’ll ride this life-boat along your side

And promise come low or high tide

To sit by you and equally row

If you give me your best, I’ll give you mine

And with our efforts combined

Could come more happiness…

If we don’t try,

We’ll ever know

~DaLe 07.21.09

Motion Sickness

I am still
But mile markers flee
Nausea chases each counted pole
Through barren brush and dirt

I find you
Nestled in fleeing sage
Full of life, but dead to me
Like yellow asphalt stripes
Counting you just hurts

All roads led to you
I rode them with tight shut sight
Then you shut yours:
Crashing was inevitable

Now watch the road spill,
Fold beneath glazed eyes,
Melt through heightened eyes and lips
Balance tipping sunburned fence posts

You held my heart
Urging return with tender touch
I ignored stomach’s sick pull
Raced into the warmth of Provo rain

I force mind to sleep, heart to numb
Time nods off, drifts to the shoulder
Each excused escape brings life
From you; from motion

Rusty red car halts for you
You’ve moved; making me take stairs.
All I am is a borrowed book --unfinished,
I return it with the plastic bag
I used when motion sick.

~DaLe 6.15.09

Composed a Few Feet from Tintern's Walls

The Sylvan Wye called to me few short years ago
And here I sit in Tintern’s walls,
Watching wind-rippled grass.
She called me here; here I sit, obedient pilgrim of deeper life
For since I first felt soul’s answer to beckoning Welsh breeze,
I could not rest ,urged forward path by path

Those beauteous words
In each stretching silence, have not given to me
As is poetry to a deaf man’s ear:
But frequent in darkening twilight, and in the dark
Of soul and conscience, I have read from them
In days of anguish, spiritual songs,
Heard in the soul, and sung in deeper core,
And sounding even into deepest heart,
In quiet healing.

By the swell of that pure love, this abbey’s carpet
dances daisies into once floors of stone
I had given my soul to the green hues when I heard of her,
The supreme and Godly nature.
Learned slowly the paths she and he in duet make for me
Lead to much brighter fields than natural eye chooses

The only lasting lives within these falling walls are doves
Nesting in forgotten corners, cooing stone into silence,
Outliving even the daisy’s presence there.

~DaLe 5.29.09

Corndogs and Crepes: A Family Memoir

For a project I had to do something related to my family. I decided to create a compilation of poems for each member of my family. We are as crazy and corny as any other family, but we also love a lot, and there are not people I love more in the world. The are my very best friends, and have taught me more about life, and how to live it successfully than any other people. Some of these are ridiculous, some are serious, but each is dedicated to the people who understand and know me better than I know myself.


Apron Knots

For My Mother

The sun begins to set
Time is drawing near
And mother ties her apron strings

She takes her scattered brood
And pulls them closer to her
Tied together with apron strings

There have been adolescent heartaches
And life-defining soul stretches
She closes the wounds with apron strings

Moments of remembered laughter
Stories of ridiculous remembrances
Highlighted with her apron strings

Quiet conversations of faith
Silent scenes of spiritual growth
Each delicately laced with apron strings

As messy faces morph into messy lives
And each child moves messily into independence
They are still held by apron strings

For no simple evening meal
Or pile of dishes cleaned
Can express the love found
In a mother’s apron strings.

Freckled Match Game

For my Father

There lies an unexplainable connection
Between father and little girl
Something about her bouncing pig tails
Softens his hard lines, makes him warm
Searing an eternal bond between the two

My father never was a stern or stiff man
God-given gentleness wrapped in his veins
Yet a special gleam reached his eyes
When, with my matching pair, I perchance
Would gaze into his, seeking, imploring

He gave me his gray-green eyes, freckles
That dash the pupil and spill onto fair cheeks
Framing a mouth full of giant grins and giggle
As he held me, speaking stories to send
those stolen eyes into sleep.

He placed within me a deeper set of eyes
One that learned to see what only heart hears
Moments of his kneeling pleas were caught
As he spoke on my little girl behalf
Hoping that his hands could reflect divinity

Years changed faces, giving his wrinkles
Filling mine with adolescent life, yet,
Matching eyes have remained, sustained
Over miled distance, and adulthood’s mountains,
His words becoming sage hues in defining times

Though change may come, and days take me far
Words from Dad never falter, each thought
Solidifies through mutable moments
That some things never change
Like a daddy and his little girl

Life’s Feature Presentation

For My Irish Twin

You came first
Like the chicken, not the egg
I came second
Like a surprisingly good sequel

And, rather like Lucy and Ethel,
We started out on our journey of mishaps.
Every hilarious episode taught us life,
Every happy ending kept us returning,
Begging life to give us more.

Like Eric and Cory that we religiously watched,
Setting aside Friday as our beloved day of TGIF,
High school was years of struggle for us,
The year between us seeming like a wall,
Yet, it’s common knowledge
That the later college seasons
Trumped all the rest with laughter,
But with deeper love as well.

As different as Meg and Jo March we stand,
Each grasping different essentials of life,
Yet the bonds of sisterhood stand rezealiant
Making little women out of both of us,
And life is limitless before us,
As our personal concord grapes
Make life’s juice deep, make it sweet.

Rivaling the ribbon-haired pair
Of Emma Woodhouse and Harriet Smith,
We’ve experienced the ridiculousness of society
While all the while embroidering our love
And laughing at failed matches made.
Our friendship being deeper than
Dances and butterfly catching.

We are the Aubin and Dani twosome,
As original and timeless as the pairs we watch
With our own faults carefully written in
By an all-knowing Father, who sees
Who knows the bigger picture,
And when this scene is over, and the lights dim
You will still be known as my big sister,
My opposite, yet perfect half,
My sister, and friend.

The Height of Brotherhood

For Jonathan

By mere genetics
We are nothing alike
your long legged shadows
stretch farther than mine
I may have more years than you
But you more height
Together we have memories
That etch friendship into smiles
Founded in our family ties.
Through years of struggle
You were there when I cried
You had my embrace
when your head hung down
and suddenly, you’re a man
tall enough to take on the world,
but I’m half a world away
wishing I could help you hurdle adolescence.
Yet, as we both mature,
So does love and laughter,
And the formation of family
Turns into deep canyons of caring
That assure the years will bring more
Of the laughter we have loved.
Jonathan, you are the answer
To my request from God for a brother,
And the request from my heart
For a friend.

Happiness in a Cup

For Samuel

I have a history of liking the bittersweet
Grapefruit juice, and Sour Patch Kids are my favorite
Somehow the tangy juice becomes an addiction
Shuddering my taste buds in pure delight.
By all accounts, I should despise the taste
But instead I love it.

Our love has been of the likings of bittersweet
We have argued, but loved just as deeply.
Our similar care for fantasy making us similar
Our bitter differences pulling as apart.
Yet, like my addiction to the sour,
I am dependant on friendship with you,
Because the sweet had made
Every bitter moment
Nothing compared to the joy
Of having you as a brother
As a protector.
Your hugs are sweetest
Your sincerity tastes the best.
And so, when favorite things are considered
So should you be, Samuel, my dear friend.

Filling Smaller Shoes

For Christan

Heroes stand out in the time of days,
Each changing earth in a particular way,
But earth was not prepared when you entered her
Your clear blue eyes made Heaven stir

Your footsteps of friendship draw others near
And every single soul feels important and dear
For your smile and laughter is genuine, bright
Your flaxen hair reflects your inner light.

It is no question who my role model has become
Like the pink tinted, summer cherry blossom
You sprinkle my world with rosy love
You, my little sister, are an angel from above.

~DaLe 04.09.09

A Necessity of Blankets

You asked me to weave some time with you
And as the days created colors we created conversations
Each of the hues presented my life with something new
And I couldn’t help but wrap up in the quilt made of you.
I pulled it around me close, embracing the loving warmth,
Convinced myself that the threads would weave into eternity

But the moths of time ate at your heart
And you couldn’t take the effort it took to create
Leaving me here to cling to a holey patchwork unaided
Where I used to cling to you, knowing you held me just as tight
Know I cling to strands, afraid to let go, unwilling
Losing a best friend hurts like loosing a quilts threads
The holes left leave spaces
Void of anything but ache.

~DaLe 3/29/09

For I Will Consider

(An Imitation, and amusing poem) DO NOT TAKE SERIOUSLY!

For I will consider the fantasy nerd.
For he is the pinnacle of all geeks, nerds, or junkies.
For at the first glance of a light saber or winged dragon his heart beats faster than if he actually exercised.
For he has too many languages to learn, magical terms to memorize, and maps of made-up places to absorb.
For is this accomplished by wasting time with social skills and hygiene?
For when he is done with his studies he begins to write an epic of his own.
For he thinks he has skills.
For having way too much time, because of his unemployment, he must do something worthwhile like picking up a medieval sword-shaped pen.
For this Tolkien-like book is written with ten necessities:
For first, there must be elves. No fantastical story ever created was with out them (except Star Wars, which is understandable for the Jedi would have to kill them.)
For secondly, there must be strange names: names such as Samantha or Zachary are not acceptable, but must be Samoneena and Zachortia.
For thirdly there must be stupid non-existent creatures. It is best to take the ones made by Tolkien or Lucas and to alter them slightly—no one will know.
For fourthly battle scenes must splash across the story like the detailed descriptions of beheaded beasts that…
For fifthly must be described in their triumphant goriness: the gluttony of carnage is vital.
For sixthly there must a woman who’s hair blows in the breeze like a thousand changing sunsets, and who’s eyes burn like an ebony sword of dark night. (She may be elfish or human).
For seventhly, a map must be inserted in the front of the story so that the fantasy nerd has endless opportunities to make up stupid-sounding words and place them over a geological feature and thus, sound intelligent.
For eighthly, there must be a break to play World of Warcraft or Halo.
For ninthly nothing must be said in a concise manner. For example, he can not say “ a new day came”, he must say “the dawn of the new day arose with a stillness in the air, and a light casted on the shadows insuring that time had indeed forced the calendar onward.
For tenthly, there must be at least three installments, but in the case of dragons over forty books may be acceptable.
For having finished his work of quill and ink penmenship, he goes up stairs to see what his mother has made for dinner.
For he refuses to get a real job to pay for the love of his life, his Macbook.
For he uses it to discuss his favorite fantasies in chat rooms.
For there is much literary quality to discuss.
For when he puts it down, he memorizes footwork for Jedi battles, and fights with Ring Wraiths.
For every Friday his cyber friends meet him at the park to have these battles.
“For there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.”
For he is too scared to go out into the world and see what it really has to offer.
For his imagination is a much safer place.
For his status as nerd has brought him many black eyes and bruised ribs.
For the orcs of 2009 use their fists to destroy.
For no matter the age, evil will exist.
For if he, the fantasy nerd, can not fight this evil in the present day, he will fight it in dungeons.
For he will fight it with dragons.
For someday he will conquer
For he will make millions with his best-selling book.
For then he will get the last laugh.
For nerds rule the world.

~DaLe 3/22/09

The Whiteboard of My Mind

Seize the day or seize the death.

Another day passes,
But this one is different than others,
Like brown sugar molasses
I’m slowing to see breath's colors.
I’ve stopped holding it, hoping
That it would rush on the spring,
Gray air full of feigned coasting
Revives wind: forgotten lines to sing.

I herald in the blazoned golden gates,
Each choppy wave of change they bring
The triumphs and troughs each crest creates
Glinting with great wisdom’s offering
Hours fly, and I sail with them
Towards destination’s uncertain land
Treasure not found in finite goal’s gem
But in today’s bypassed fruitful hand

Another day passes
But this one is sweeter than others
This one is today

~DaLe 3.11.09

Se Réveille et Se Tombe

Une autre fille tombe
Le soleil trouve la lune
Nous, simplement, sommes
Et je ne vois aucune
Mais les moments eux-mêmes
Sont l’or dans les yeux
Tu me manques et je t’aime
Et je ne veux pas demande à Dieu
Pour le ciel ou la terre, mon chère,
Parce que J’ai les deux à la main
Maintenant, tout que j’espère
Est la, dans cette moment, je suis saine.

~DaLe 2.19.09

Ice Sculpting

Glances are forgotten luxuries
Reviled emptiness embraces space
I embrace pillows soft enough to harm
Responsibility clogs the days
But in night, your presence tarries

Miles are paved with words
That stretch far enough to intertwine
Holding promised smiles in their arms
Loathing the constancy of time
Our emotion pushes days onward

So airwaves and sounds will suffice
While aching is hidden in hooded stances
Confiding solace tangible in the dimming stars
Weight felt in the snow-covered branches
Fingered solace freezes memory like ice

You are etched into my soul

~DaLe 1.31.09